


With a Song of Pure Romance

by dynamicsofanasteroid



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Northern Downpour, Pining, Serenading, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsofanasteroid/pseuds/dynamicsofanasteroid
Summary: It was always him, falling for you





	1. Hey! Stranger I Want You to Catch Me Like a Cold

   Dallon knows flattery never gets anyone anywhere- has even heard some himself- but god  _damn_ Brendon is gorgeous.

 

   They've only known each other for three months but he's starting to fall for the singer, in all shapes and forms. When he first tried out, Dallon had to admit the man was pretty cute with his exasperated look as Dallon failed to actually learn the songs he was auditioning for, with the slight pout of full lips and rolling chocolate eyes and the huff that blew away the soft looking brown curl that had fallen on his face. The bassist just smirked and continued to strum.

   Now he was in too deep. Caught up in the electricity of the stage, Dallon couldn't help but let the excitement of the singer rub off on him. He glanced over at Brendon who was panting, clearly starting to be a bit exhausted from the performance, but who was grinning wide just the same.

   The next song was one he knew most of the lyrics to and he thought,  _What the heck? I'll start this one off._

   He playfully sauntered over to Brendon as the music lulled between the song change and fans continued to cheer. Ruffling the brunette hair (which was soft indeed) earned a whoop from the crowd. 

   "Hey, how 'bout I begin this next one, okay?" He said, looking down at Brendon, whose lips were open, loudly inhaling and exhaling air. He nodded, still too breathless for words. Dallon couldn't help but smile at the sight.

   "Yeah?" He gripped on the shoulder. He made sure not to make it so rough but ended up just holding it. Hurriedly, he broke the contact.

   "Take a breather, man."

   Dallon walked back to his mic, addressing the audience once more in a melodramatic narrator voice before disclaiming, "Our fantastic frontman has worn himself out playing for you guys tonight so I'll be starting this next one out."

   He began to clap out the rhythm, soon joined by the rest of the band and the fans as well, as they instantly recognized the song.

   "Are you worth your weight in gold? 'Cause you're behind my eyelids when I'm alone," he sang, following the lyric and closing his eyes.

   "Hey stranger, catch me like a cold..." Oh, how much would he give for Brendon to notice someone new like him? To feel the same rapid sensation in his chest he got when he gazed at the other man.

   As he entered the second verse, his eyes flew open and he projected the innuendos into his voice and subtle movements- moving his eyebrows up and down while swaying his hips.

   "I lead the revolution in my bedroom-"

   He heard a whistle from stage left and looked as Brendon beamed up at him, eyes squinting in laughter. Smirking, Dallon strolled over slowly to him as the crowd ate up the acted electricity between them. 

   The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he inched ever closer to the smug man.

   "No more clothes beneath me," he sang, holding out the last note.

   A beat from the drums and he found hands behind his head as he was pulled down, eye level with glittering dark eyes and lips only a microphone away from another.

   "Oh kiss me!" Brendon's voice rasped, imitating needy and husky, as Dallon fell silent in surprise.

   It was only for a moment before Brendon walked away, nearer to the edge of the stage, but Dallon was reeling- had pulled back swiftly, lightheaded. Fumbling fingers followed through the rest of the song but he was smiling as he looked near- but never at- the singer. It was ridiculous. They'd always done this before, this pretend flirtiness. It wasn't any different.

   _You're right. It's just that you get that same tightness in your chest every time_.

   He huffed a chuckle at the thought and welcomed the same arms wrapping around his upper torso with another smile.

~

_"So how long have you been playing for_ _Panic!_ _now?"_

_"Um, it's been about a year now. More than half a year."_

_"And you're their bass player?"_

_"Correct. I'm his.. yeah, the bassist."_

_"Just for touring though?"_

_"Just for touring, yes."_

_"How you likin' it so far? Compared to your old group."_

_"I love it. I'm really enjoying it. The Brobecks... Well, they were never an actual 'official' group- being unsigned and all and really I did most of the heavy lifting for it to actually get out to the public. It was more of a hobby."_

_"So are you gonna stick around a while with this band, with Brendon, or is it-"_

_"No, no I like it- the whole atmosphere on and off stage. I'm staying. I'm where I want to be."_


	2. Let's (Try) Not (to) Get Selfish

   He never meant to take over with singing again. Dallon thought he had more self-control than this. But it was just something about Brendon with his vivacious movements and fierce yet gentle soul he'd gotten to know that made him happily trail after him. As a (somewhat devout) Mormon, he's been urged to not give into temptations but Brendon was an indulgence he couldn't seem to stay away from- especially in the state he was in now. 

    At this moment, the performer was a walking,  _smoking_ , paradox; ruffled hair raised in a fluff, some strands sticking to his forehead, dress shirt sleeves messily folded up, bowtie at an angle, while his suspenders were still neatly, firmly tight on his person- following the natural curve of his body. Thank god the next song would at least justify his actions.

   As Brendon stepped up to the mic, Dallon stepped into the curve of the smaller man's back in one stride- bass on his back. Later on, after he would clean himself up, Dallon's last thought before sleeping would be not only how delicious, but how  _right_ it was to be so close to the brunette- like they were the final pieces of a puzzle finally slotting into place.

   In perfect timing, Brendon gave a surprised gasp as the taller man murmured the opening lines into the crook of his neck.

   "Is it still me who makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed?"

   He dragged his unhurried fingers up the left thigh, fluttering, but enough to feel. "Your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress."

   Being part of a band with a man as attractive as Brendon Urie, he's gotten his fair share of questions wondering if it was nice hanging out with a piece of eye-candy like the singer, even some requests to "tap him" themselves. Blood running hot, the man found himself feverish as a sense of possessiveness came over him.

   "I've got more wit. A better kiss," Dallon kissed the hollow of the slightly trembling man's spine as he hooked his fingers on the suspenders, thumbing it, "a hotter touch, a better fuck."

   He turned the man to the side to face him as he pulled away.

  "Than  _any_ boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you have me," Dallon sings, hand on his chest. Brendon... Brendon is  _walking_ towards him. His eyes are glazed and his path a bit not straight, seemingly entranced by the sound of the tenor voice. So Dallon meets him in the middle.

   In a surprisingly gentle move (in contrast to the heated tension), he swipes a thumb over the brunette's cheekbone and traces the jawline. He hadn't expected the action but then again, the man in front of him made him do things he never planned to do. Such as memorizing the adoring doe-eyed, milky gaze and tucking it away in his heart.

   "A better love deserving of."

   Dallon drags a palm down Brendon's chest, earning a very small, minute stutter from Brendon's hips that causes a shiver to run down his back.

  "No, no, no, you know you know it will always," the hand makes its way to Brendon's heart, "be me."

  Dallon must be imagining it but a look of determination seems to fill Brendon's eyes alongside the previous energy. 

  Pushing his arm away from its resting place, Brendon is back on his game as he pulls Dallon towards him again. They share the mic for the next line- hoarse high voice mixing with the low tenor.

  "Let's get these teen hearts beating faster! Faster!"

~

   "Whew! What a performance that was huh, folks?" a disheveled Brendon addresses the crowd, leaning on  _Dallon's_ mic stand for support- left arm lazily draped over it. The fans' cheers thunder and hollers and whistles are thrown in here and there.

   "Mister Dallon Weekes really does  _lead_ the revolution in the bedroom," he says, alluding to the last song takeover. Dallon remembers the reaction Brendon had after the touring bassist attempted to sputter out an apology. Brendon had simply held his hand up and smiled while shaking his head, affirming that so long as Dallon continued "to sound like a teenager after a hookup" he can continue to sing whenever.

   Dallon thought he'd crossed the line for sure this time. Who had he thought he was? He was only a bass player; there for a couple months, meant to lurk in the places the spotlight didn't reach, nod along to adoring cries not meant for him. It's not like he was an actual member. The kind words of his boss at least alleviated the worry that he would lose his job.

   "He sounds good, doesn't he? Give it up for this tall, handsome glass of water- Dallon Weekes, everybody!" 

   Dallon looked up in shock at the sight before him, of thousands of flushed faced supporters yelling out encouragements and as Brendon himself clapped along. Possibly sensing his discomfort at the appraisal, he walked over to Dallon and hooked his arm over the taller man's shoulder in a warm embrace. 

   Dallon wondered if Brendon could feel the thudding rhythm of his heart. The brunette smiled into his chest.

~

    _"So Dallon, you were the frontman for your old group. Did you actually compose any of the songs yourself?"_

_"Uh yeah. I did 'Second Boys Will Be First Choice,' 'I Will, Tonight,' and 'Lo-"_

   " _Yeah! Yeah, I think we've heard a couple of those. I think Jake here bought the album. 'Violent Things' was it? Yeah, yeah. Uh, will you be doing any songwriting for this or any future album?"_

_"I don't think so haha. Uh, I'm just a touring bassist and I think Brendon's nice enough and an open enough guy to let me maybe contribute a line or two in a song or draw inspiration from me. Maybe ask for advice but no, nothing serious like writing a whole verse."_

_"But wouldn't you like to?"_

_"Write with him? Yeah, I'd love to. But maybe just the instrumental. I'm... I put a lot of myself in my lyrics if I was to be a lyricist for a particular song. I don't know if I'd be able to bear my emotions out on a page especially if I don't know if it's wanted."_

_"I'm sure you'll do well, man. Well, tune in next time. This is Dallon Weekes of Panic! At the Disco on 103..."_

 


	3. Blink Back (Please Let Me Know)

   It's three a.m. and Dallon gets a call from Zack to resend a demo that the others apparently fucked up.

 

   He gets to the studio fifteen minutes later. The front hall is lit but every other room is locked. He finds the file and resends it in ten minutes, ready to go back to his hotel room and catch up on much-needed sleep.

   A door to a sound room is ajar and a light shines from somewhere inside. Dallon pauses and the air condition hums as it restarts and the fluorescent bulb flickers. For some reason, he goes inside.

   The actual sound room is dark but the studio light is on and almost all of the instruments have been taken out. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows that if no one cleans this up Zack will chew  _his_ ear out for not telling the others since he knows better.

   The sight that greets him as he enters the brightly lit room makes his breath hitch. Brendon has his hair messy like he'd been running his hand through it all night. His face is tucked away in folded arms as he lays on the writing table. Sheet music is scattered like a halo around the resting figure and scraps of paper with scribbled writing are taped in random places.

   Walking a bit closer, he sees one of his favorite basses on the couch- carefully leaning on a pillow.

   He bends down, collecting the scattered paper, when he picks up a clean one with lyrics on a notebook- free from slash marks. It's a gentle acoustic song; opening with a major chord and written in a fairly simplistic rhythm. It's not just the style change.The lyrics are unlike Brendon's usual writing- generally filled with hidden attacks and spiteful and openly rebellious. This is a pure love song, though it still has a sheen of Brendon's enigmatic on top like a frosting.

   The singer promises devotion, promises to share the burden of the world. Dallon's heart skips a beat as he reads the chorus; 

 

 

 

 

 

> _It was always you, falling for me._

 

    _Does... Does he know?_   Dallon looks up from the piece of paper he's been holding to study the sleeping man. Brendon seems to be hiding, shying away from the mess around him. Sitting down next to him, Dallon cards his fingers through the brown hair, waiting for Brendon to wake up. There's a soft murmur before the head is slowly lifting and confused dark eyes are looking at him.

   "Dal? Why're you here?"

   Dallon starts to stand, hooking his lanky arms under the shorter man's.

   "C'mon Bren. It's time to go home."

   Brendon being Brendon struggles, albeit weakly as slumber still clouds his movements. Dallon huffs a laugh at the wriggling creature in his arms, finding it exasperatingly adorable. Eventually, they both get to their feet until Brendon completely puts his weight on Dallon- the sudden action causing him to buckle and sit down again. Brendon takes advantage of the situation and clambers into his lap.

   Dallon sighs. "Bren-"

 

   "Take me home, Dal."

 

   There's no denying that Brendon's mind always goes a mile a minute- perhaps regardless of his ADHD. Yet at very rare times has any of his bandmates seen all that manic energy latched on a singular point. Dallon's seen a peek of it between bathroom breaks on the road when he's one of the first back on the bus and Brendon's leaning over a notepad, scribbling furiously.

   Never has he been on the other side of those eyes. Until now. It's intense, leaving him breathless. Though everything Brendon does this to him.

   Frankly, he's rooted to the spot. Those eyes aren't the ones of the Brendon he knows, at least not really. It's the one that he spots in the corner of his peripheral vision between certain songs he suspects a deeper meaning to. They're the eyes of a young man barely out of high school who thought he had it all before losing it all. They're the eyes of the lonely, desperate, yet resigned. 

   They don't belong on his Brendon- it's so wrong that it feels like a visual representation of nails on a chalkboard. Dallon wants to hug him tight, tight enough that their bodies melt and he can fill all the broken pieces; wants to thumb his cheekbone again, grip his hair, and kiss him gently- gently enough that the man's roughed up heart can begin to smoothen and Brendon can start believing in the world, in himself, again.

   Gingerly, he places a hand on the back of Brendon's head and carefully, carefully, places a delicate kiss on the forehead. It's just a brush of his lips but all the tension from the body beneath him drains and he's curling into the crook of the bigger man's neck and the world seems right again, if only for a moment. It's like Brendon was made to be here, resting peacefully against his chest, breath tickling his neck. Dallon manages to snag a couple pillows to situate themselves- ignoring the fact that he can pick the man up and lay him on the couch.

   As he brings the pillow over, something smacks him in the face. It's the notepad from earlier, the knowing chorus judging him from between the lines. Dallon hesitates, glances at the gorgeous figure by his side, and picks up a sharpie.

   The addition to the song he was never supposed to see in the first place is the last thing he thinks of as he leans into Brendon's radiating warmth.

 

   "What's this?"

   Dallon freezes at the doorway.

   He had snuck away in the morning. He carefully laid the still sleeping man on the couch and pull the covers over him, like he intended last night. They hadn't even made out for Christ's sake, yet looking at the resting (and slightly drooling) face was a stolen moment.

   "Did I... I didn't write this."

   There's no way he couldn't come clean. Plastering a fake smile, he turns around. 

   "Sorry, I saw the song and I thought of something that I thought would make sense." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Brendon was still staring at the page.

   "Probably shouldn't have written it in Sharpie though. That was my bad-"

   "Dal." Brendon's tone was the same one from last night but his eyes are blank.  _Fuck. He's messed up. Shouldn't have snooped. Couldn't leave it well enough alone could he?_

"Man, I'm really sorry. God, I didn't know-"

   "Play it."

   Dallon blinks, startled, but nods and makes his way over to his bass- the one still laying on the couch. His cheeks tint a little as his mind sends out the intrusive thought that Brendon probably used this to compose earlier parts of the song.

   "I'm a fly that's trapped in a web but I'm thinking that my spider's dead." His naturally husky voice fails to send across the gentle message the words carry but he continues. 

   "Lonely. Lonely little life- I could kid myself into thinking that I'm fine." The note tapers off as his fingers carelessly drop from the strings and looks up at Brendon, expectant.

   Brendon has that resigned look on his face again and it struck him that he could be wrong about last night. Brendon's not upset over the split- or not just from it- it's the thought of Dallon attempting to replace what he couldn't. The realization of crossing too many lines and overstepping too many boundaries hits him square in the chest and he leaps from the couch.

   "I-I gotta go. I'm sorry, Bren-don. I am." He leaves and doesn't look back.

 

   Brendon doesn't show up to lunch. He doesn't show up the rest the day. However, the other guys aren't too worried about it which rubs Dallon the wrong way. He knows he's probably coming off as a bit suspicious and pretends to accept their brushing comment of Brendon tending to go perfectionistic near the end of an album development.

   After dinner at a bar, Dallon speeds down the highway to the studio, heart pounding in his chest.

   The studio looks exactly the same way it did the night he found Brendon. Except, when he walks past the sound room, Brendon is clearly awake and poring over stacks of music. He looks up from where he is and sighs an exasperated sigh. Which doesn't make sense because it's always someone else getting exasperated at Brendon.

   But Brendon's got that easy glaze over his eyes again- the one after Dallon comforted him and the surprisingly fond one onstage he's fortunate to receive at times.

   "Man, I'm sorry," he tries, still unsure of what's happening. "God, I didn't know it meant that much-"

   Brendon's shaking his head and hunching his shoulders, exasperation growing by the minute and now he  _rolls his eyes_ and Dallon's just so confused that his head spins and his chest tightens and Brendon's next words don't help either:

   "It does mean a lot. Which is why I'm keeping it."

   Dallon doesn't think he's every felt this much level of confusion and his mind briefly wanders back to the Onion article Kenny showed him that morning from a man getting into a "confusion coma."

   "Has anyone ever told you, you look damn cute confused?" Bren is squinting and grinning up at him so it's alright. He takes him by the arm and drags him to the table.

   "I love it, Dal. It flows and it works and I'm keepin' it and you can't change it."

   All of a sudden, strumming plays from the speakers and Dallon should really remember to think around Brendon but he's swept up in the feeling moving through his chest.

   He's placed a hand on the grinning man's hips and he's pulling him in, closer that their breaths are mingling. Brendon hitches, eyes wide and lips parted. 

   Tenderly, he skims his hand on the underside of Brendon's free arm before coming to a stop at his wrist, gently holding it. His other hand has moved to his partner's back.

   Gaze locked, they begin to dance.

   

   It wasn't perfect- the song was never intended to be one to waltz to. They manage to find a rhythm among the hectic beat and not step on each other's toes at the same time.

   Dallon leads them in a simple, easy rhythm of step in and steps out with the occasional spin which always gets Brendon's face to lighten up just a bit more. 

   Somehow, they had started singing along without Dallon noticing. The sound of the different stylistic voices mixing give him an unexpected joy and his grin threatens to be bigger than Brendon's.

   As they reach Dallon's verse and the bridge, Brendon decides to be smart and mix two Cha Cha steps he "learned from when we were Panama, remember?"

   They end in a dip, Dallon cradling Brendon's head. The position unexpectedly reveals the vulnerability and fragility of the younger man and the ache in Dallon's chest threatens to ruin the moment.

   He pulls them back upright but Brendon's tucking himself away in the crook of his neck again- grasping at the dress shirt.

   "Will you stay?" he whispers.

   Dallon kisses the curls lovingly.

   "Always."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't proofread but will do so soon


End file.
